


Fool Me Once

by horselizard, likecharity



Category: British Comedy RPF
Genre: Blushing, Coming In Pants, Dom/sub, Embarrassment, Foot Jobs, Handcuffs, Humiliation, Humor, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, Public Humiliation, Shame, Twitter, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-28 21:10:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20070637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horselizard/pseuds/horselizard, https://archiveofourown.org/users/likecharity/pseuds/likecharity
Summary: Surely James wouldn't be so stupid as to let Ed hack into his Twitter account a second time?Well, no, notstupid.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt:  
"inspired by [today's Twitter Events](https://twitter.com/JamesAcaster/status/1118448394459131904), can we get some full-on humiliation!kink up in here plz [...] I mean, James is BEGGING for it"
> 
> Further suggestions:  
\- "Ed taking over James' twitter account again but this time, James consents to it, and perhaps they're in the same room this time [...] Bonus points for tying James up so he can't touch himself or escape"  
\- "i like the idea of ed showing him something REALLY outrageous that he's put in a tweet draft and then turning away again and just PRETENDING to hit send"  
\- "maybe the most humiliating things Ed could tweet would be [...] things that WERE actually true [...] what if the thing he pretends to tweet but doesn't, is something about James's humiliation kink [...] and that's what pushes him over the edge"
> 
> Then Mystery Anon #1 (horselizard) wrote a setup but couldn't get any further, and Mystery Anon #2 (likecharity) picked it up and ran with it.
> 
> A true team effort, Britcommers! <3

“Can’t believe you made me say I’d killed a pig with a brick,” James muttered grumpily.

“Oh, what, are you _still_ going on about that?” Ed exclaimed. “I thought we went over this: it was funny. I explained the concept to you very clearly.”

“It was _embarrassing_, is what it was,” James shot back, raising a warning eyebrow at the beginnings of Ed’s smirk.

“Oh, come on,” Ed rolled his eyes. “Like you didn’t enjoy it.”

“_Enjoy_ it?” James squawked. “Of course I didn’t _enjoy_ it! You made me into a laughing stock!” His stomach fluttered faintly at the memory, frantically refreshing his own Twitter page, wincing at each new humiliation Ed had dreamed up, half the world away and absolutely powerless to stop it. “I’m very well aware that _you_ enjoyed it, you little sneak, but _I_ didn’t!”

“Which is why you deleted all those embarrassing tweets as soon as you got your account back?” Ed drawled.

James sputtered, taken aback. “I…”

“How long has it been now? And they’re all still up there, for anyone to see. Can’t be very _enjoyable_ for you, can it?” Ed continued.

James felt his cheeks starting to flush. “I… left them up because…” he soldiered on, willing himself to think of a plausible justification, “…because I didn’t want to delete the _evidence_ of what a _terrible_ person you are!” he finished triumphantly. “Reflects worse on you than it does on me, that little episode!”

“It doesn’t really, though, does it?” Ed replied. “Because you must have known that was going to happen.”

“Unlike _some_ people,” James spluttered, his voice rising, “I am an honest and trustworthy friend–”

“–You must have realised that _if_ I actually managed to get in to your account, it would be absolutely criminal for me to waste such a golden opportunity–”

“–to make _your very good friend_ look like a complete _idiot?_–”

“–and then you’d be the centre of attention, with everyone witnessing your discomfort, and revelling in it,” Ed finished. “Just where you like to be.”

James blinked. “What?” he asked, and then wished he hadn’t, because now, he’d have to hear Ed’s answer. And if he wasn’t able to refute it, he’d be in even bigger trouble than it already appeared he was.

“Well, it doesn’t take a genius,” Ed replied, and James’s cheeks grew hotter. “You literally wrote the book on public humiliation. And from what you’ve told me, your second book is mostly about you disgracing yourself as well. Don’t try and claim it’s because you need the material, either, because you just bring this stuff up out of nowhere, half the time. _Some_ people, when they’d crashed out of Pointless in a _very_ embarrassing manner, _some_ people would prefer to avoid bringing that up, completely unprompted, during a podcast where it was only tangentially relevant.”

“That was–”

“Or like just now, when you started angling for a rehash of exactly how stupid I made you look on Twitter.”

James didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. And with every second he continued to fail to say anything, he was digging a deeper and deeper hole for himself. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was sure he was blushing hard enough for Ed to see by now.

“So would someone with that track record _really_ not be hoping for a hijacking when they gave their friend their social media password?” Ed pushed, a glimmer of self-satisfaction in his eyes.

“That,” James mumbled, either bravely or stupidly, “is baseless slander.”

And then Ed laughed. Ed laughed in James’s face, and James’s stomach turned over, because apparently, the very idea of him trying to defend himself against these accusations was laughable. Was he really that transparent? Could _everyone_ tell? Or was it just Ed? Was he just the only one who was close enough and perceptive enough to pick up on it?

And if that was the case, James wondered with a sudden cold shiver, would he _tell_ anyone?

“You did _change_ your password afterwards, right?” Ed asked, looking serious again.

James wasn’t good at masking his reactions at the best of times, and this was absolutely not the best of times. He saw Ed’s eyebrows twitch upwards in surprise, and that really wasn’t fair, because he hadn’t even got as far as voicing the lie yet.

“Of course I did,” James said in a rush, too quickly after too long of a pause, the “log out of all other sessions” button clearly visible in his memory, and he couldn’t do any better than that, not when half the fibres of his being desperately ached for him to crash and burn.

Ed’s expression was blank. “Yeah,” he replied, reasonably. “Of course you did. Silly of me to ask. Well. Doesn’t matter. At least _you_ didn’t manage to make coffee with sparkling water, eh?”

James laughed, loud and false, and directed all his energies into following up on Ed’s merciful subject-change, trying in vain to ignore the part of himself which was quivering with helpless, painful, humiliating excitement.

* * *

James spent the next few days in a haze of guilty, thrilling terror.

Every time he opened Twitter, his heart rate increased at the thought of what he might find; every time he saw nothing on his timeline but exactly what he’d posted there himself, a wave of disappointment swept over him, closely followed by relief, then shame. He shouldn’t _want_ this. He shouldn’t _want_ Ed to… take advantage of him… make a mockery of him… hold him up to public ridicule. (He shivered.)

Of _course_ he hadn’t changed his password. Of _course_ he’d hoped that one day, maybe, idly, accidentally, Ed would discover he could still log in. And then, naturally, Ed would have roasted him even worse than the first time, quite reasonably assuming he was a careless idiot who deserved everything he got. Fun for all the family.

But now, Ed _knew_. If he logged in to his account again, it wouldn’t be an accident, any more than James’s failure to change his password had been an accident. He’d be _checking_. Checking to see if James really was that pathetic, that desperate. Because even the most careless and idiotic of careless idiots would have finally, _finally_ remembered to change their password after a conversation like _that_. So if Ed got in to his account now, what, exactly, would he decide James deserved?

Right now, it seemed, as the uneventful hours crawled by, what Ed thought James deserved was to stew.

Then at last, one afternoon when he was sat at his computer, his phone lit up with a notification. A DM from Ed. Not so unusual, because they’d already planned to meet up that night. What _was_ unusual, James quickly realised, was what the DM was ostensibly in reply to. It was a message, from James’s account to Ed’s, which James hadn’t written.

James’s heart thudded in his ears as he scrolled up to see the full text.

_Hi Ed,_ it read, _I’ve been thinking about our conversation the other night. I think we both know you were right about the public humiliation thing._

Fuck, James thought, his whole body cringing. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…

_I enjoyed it so much when you hijacked my Twitter the first time, I’d like you to do it to me again. And this time, I’d like to watch._

James stared at the screen in disbelief, his inner monologue still one long stream of “fuck”s. What was Ed playing at? Was he going to – James’s stomach lurched – screengrab this or something? Or was he planting the awful, toe-curling, tantalising thought in his mind just so he could cruelly shoot it down?

Neither, as it turned out, when he feverishly scrolled down to properly read Ed’s “reply”.

_Hi James, I’m so glad you asked! I would love to. How about when you come round tonight? We can save The Mummy for another time. Just message me back if you’d rather not, otherwise I’ll assume that’s the plan. See you later!_

It took several re-reads for James to properly take in what Ed was saying. He hadn’t expected _this_. He couldn’t have _hoped_ for this. And, in all honesty, he wasn’t quite sure he could _handle_ this. Guilty one-handed fumbling in an Australian hotel room was one thing; sitting there _watching_ while Ed did it, a thick, clammy layer of private humiliation on top of the public humiliation, was another thing entirely…

Ed had given him an out. All he had to do was message back a “no thanks”. And if he didn’t… well… he’d just go round to Ed’s tonight, just like he’d been going to do anyway, and he could _almost_ pretend that anything that might happen after that wasn’t his fault.

He continued to stare at his phone, unseeing. The tick would have gone blue by now.

He closed the app, put his phone away, and calmly returned to his work. He lasted about five seconds before his face broke out into a goofy grin, and his limbs twisted themselves into a flailing dance of anticipation.

* * *

“Hey,” Ed said, smiling broadly, as he opened the door.

“Hey,” James replied nervously. His imagination had been running riot all day, thinking about what Ed might do, thinking about being _at his mercy_. He was pretty sure he was already a sweating, blushing mess, awkward body language written all over his awkward body. He was also pretty sure there was no point trying to conceal it, not when they both knew what was about to happen, and what effect it was going to have on him.

“Come on in,” Ed said, and from the brief flicker of eye contact James managed to make before his gaze darted away again, he was fairly certain Ed’s smile had widened. Presumably Ed _liked_ seeing him like this. Which, on the one hand, made sense, but on the other hand, oh God.

James stepped over the threshold and closed the door, and instead of leading him through to the lounge like he usually would, Ed stayed standing in front of him, blocking his path. “So,” he said pleasantly. “Just to be clear. The plan for this evening.” He paused, and James glanced at him uncertainly. “You’re going to give me control of your Twitter account. And I’m going to do my worst. Right?”

“Right,” James echoed faintly.

“Because you want me to.”

Ed was looking at James expectantly. James swallowed. “Yup,” he admitted, feeling his blush deepen.

“Good,” Ed grinned. “Thank you, James. I think we’re both going to have a lot of fun.”

He turned, motioning for James to follow him, and to James’s surprise, led him into his bedroom. “Good to have a bit of privacy,” Ed commented by way of explanation, as he closed the door. A smirk crossed his features. “Privacy and safety,” he added, eyeing James slyly.

“Yeah, all right,” James muttered.

“Now,” Ed tutted in mock disappointment, “I thought you might get like this. Which is why I’d like you to sit there, please.”

James sat on the plain wooden chair Ed was indicating, frowning in confusion. “What does what I’m getting like have to do with where I’m sitting?”

“Oh, everything,” Ed replied, turning and rummaging in a bedside drawer. “Because I don’t want you changing your mind, and taking it out on me. Realising you can’t handle my teasing, after you asked for it. If you want me to do this, I’m going to do it properly.” With a flourish, he produced a pair of furry handcuffs. “And I’m not going to let you stop me.”

James’s jaw dropped. “Why do you have _those?_”

“Why d’you think?” Ed winked.

James tried to look disdainful, but he was too flustered by this sudden bit of ante-upping. “And you want to put them on me?” he stammered.

“Yeah,” Ed replied. “I don’t want you getting all contrary and trying to grab the phone off me. You agreed to give me control.” He walked round behind James, forcing him to crane his neck to look at him. “So, are you going to let me take control?”

“Yes,” James said, in a tiny voice.

“Excellent,” Ed smiled, and started wrapping the chain of the handcuffs round the crossbar of the chair. _Now_ James understood: even with his weirdly flexible joints, he wouldn’t be able to wriggle out of this, not when – his heart leapt into his throat as Ed firmly grasped one wrist, pulled it behind his back, and slipped it into the cuff.

James’s breathing quickened. He had been expecting to feel emotionally vulnerable, but not _physically_ vulnerable as well. Not to mention helpless. And – he looked down at himself with a sinking feeling – exposed. If he started getting turned on (which, he had to admit, was a very real prospect), it would be very difficult to discreetly hide it. And that fact, in itself, was already threatening to turn him on. Ed was going to have a field day.

Then again, he reflected as Ed took hold of his other arm, being stuck in this position meant he wouldn’t be tempted to touch himself. If he got so aroused, so desperate, so shamefully horny as to actually start touching himself in front of Ed, there would be no way he could claim he wasn’t enjoying it; this way, he could still cling to a scrap of plausible deniability. In fact, he realised, since he had no choice but to sit there and take it, he could insist all he liked that he didn’t _really_ want this to be happening – he could shout, and complain, and struggle, and yell at Ed to stop – and nobody would ever be able to prove that what he actually wanted most in the world was to sit there and take it.

As the second cuff clicked tight around his wrist, James felt something almost approaching relief wash over him. There was nothing he could do now. He was about to be completely and utterly humiliated. And, God, he was ready for it.

Ed finished adjusting the handcuffs, walked back round in front of James, and sat down across from him on the bed. “I hope your phone’s on vibrate,” he smirked, and the look on his face when James instinctively glanced down at his trouser pocket and groaned was nothing short of delighted.

“Well then, my very good friend,” he grinned as he pulled out his own phone, “let’s do this.”


	2. Chapter 2

Ed began tapping away at his phone, and James realised he could actually hear him typing. The keyboard clicks had been switched on, which had to have been for James's benefit—Ed wanted him to hear every single letter being typed out. Thankfully, he wasted no time kicking things off. He turned his phone round to show James the Twitter app open on James's profile, a new tweet at the top reading: _Guess who was dumb enough not to change his password since the last time he got Twitter hacked?_

It was a pretty basic start, but it made James's heart start beating faster in anticipation of what was to come. He noticed that the tweet didn't actually clarify who'd written it. Hopefully the implication was clear enough, but there was still a chance some people might think that the upcoming tweets were from him, and he knew Ed had left that little bit of ambiguity deliberately.

Ed flashed him an incongruously friendly grin, and then settled back on the bed, typing again. He was obviously sending out multiple tweets from the sounds of it, which made the anticipation even worse—James just had to sit there, waiting and wondering. He tugged experimentally against the handcuffs just to appreciate how trapped he was. Ed was clearly enjoying his discomfort, taking his time and smiling to himself, secure in the knowledge that he had total control.

After a moment, he glanced up. "By the way," he said, "I won't listen to any whining and complaining, but if you really, _honestly_ want me to stop, you can say 'cabbage'."

James shot him a glare, but that was all he could manage, caught out by the realisation of just how transparent he was. Ed _knew_ he wanted to be able to fight it, wanted to be able to say 'stop' and be ignored. He tried to stay calm, but his mind was racing as he thought about what Ed might be saying to the world. Ed was clearly alarmingly good at reading him; what did that mean for a venture like this? What was he getting himself into?

He was so on edge that when his phone buzzed in his pocket it made him jump, and Ed chuckled without looking up. He was glad he would only be receiving notifications for tweets from people he followed, otherwise his phone would likely be vibrating non-stop. He couldn't even check whether it was a tweet at all, or perhaps a text from a well-meaning friend letting him know what was going on. He realised once again just how powerless he was—he was only going to see what Ed _wanted_ him to see. 

Finally, Ed showed James the screen again. James's eyes darted all over it, trying to read all the words at once in his eagerness. He relaxed a touch when he realised that Ed had warmed up with some fairly standard, stupid stuff. He laughed a little when he saw that Ed had tweeted various enthusiastic greetings at Alex Horne, then made a face when he saw that he'd also declared James's love of Boris Johnson and support of Men's Rights Activists. There was also a tweet sent to Whittaker's Chocolate, telling them they were shit and he hated them. 

It was dumb, but James couldn't deny that it sent a little thrill through him anyway, a stupid, weird little thrill. It was something about the loss of control, the trust he was putting in Ed, potentially letting him ruin relationships, even if (for now) they were only with brands. He nodded to let Ed know he'd finished reading, feeling awkward, not sure what he was supposed to say. Ed obviously wasn't asking for his approval, but James didn't feel like lashing out at him, either, at least not yet. This was the sort of thing he'd expected, after all, and it felt silly to object when Ed would know he didn't mean it. God, he felt so _exposed_.

He sat there, listening to the little clicks that told him Ed was composing another tweet, feeling the vibration of his phone against his thigh as he received a few more notifications. He wondered what his friends might be saying, what they thought of him for letting this happen a second time.

Ed had maybe lulled James into a false sense of security, because when he saw the next tweet his breath caught in his throat. _Any other comedians actually like it when they get heckled?_ it read. _The more mean-spirited the attacks the better, I say. Bring it on!_

On the surface it was more of the same, perhaps, but James knew what Ed really meant by it, and that made him shift uncomfortably in the chair, wishing he could avoid Ed's scrutiny.

"Did I hit a nerve? You're blushing," Ed observed, after studying him for a painfully long time. "Suits you, actually. You look good with a bit of colour in your cheeks."

That only served to make James's cheeks warmer, but he managed to scoff at Ed's words and keep it together as Ed returned to his phone. 

The next tweets he showed James were DMs. He'd messaged a couple of different bands that James followed, bands he had interviewed very professionally for both his book and his podcast (which Ed knew full well). _Luv u guys, u changed my life_, one message read. The other, _ima big fan, will you sign my chest?_ It was juvenile stuff and James felt reasonably confident the bands in question would figure out the situation without much trouble, and not judge him too harshly for it. Even so, it was undeniably _embarrassing_, in that delicious way that made him feel all warm and prickly. He didn't think he was showing any of his enjoyment on his face, but Ed was looking at him in a knowing way that told him he was probably wrong.

The next tweet was when James knew things were taking a turn. _Love a good strip club,_ it said. _In my fave one right now getting a very satisfactory lap dance from a lady called Fantasia._

Ed seemed to particularly enjoy writing things that were, for the most part, antithetical to James's actual personality and life, and even though James secretly thought that wasn't exactly what he wanted from this experience, it was still exciting for reasons he couldn't begin to justify. He knew that anyone paying attention would have caught on by now, but the thought of someone coming across the odd tweet out of context, thinking that's the sort of person he really was...it made his chest feel tight. Unfortunately his trousers were beginning to feel tight as well, which did not go unnoticed.

"Getting a little excited, are we?" Ed teased.

"No," James lied pointlessly, shifting in the chair as if that would do anything to disguise his growing erection.

Ed smirked at him and showed him a follow-up tweet: _Actually my dream is to be one of the dancers here. They let me have a go on the pole once but I tripped and fell on my arse._

It wasn't Ed's most creative work, but James didn't care. There was something about the thought of all of his followers imagining him in these scenarios...Ed had the power to make people picture him any way he liked, and there was nothing James could do about it. James realised just how closely Ed was watching him, eyes fixed intently on his face, and his cheeks burned. He felt intensely self-conscious.

"No one's going to think that's true," he said without really thinking, simply speaking to fill the silence. He needed to try and distract Ed from his physical reactions; he couldn't deal with Ed knowing just how much this was all getting to him.

He was expecting Ed to make some quip about how it was quite believable, actually, because James would _definitely_ fall on his arse if he ever tried to pole dance, but instead Ed perked up as though James had said something very interesting. James's stomach clenched.

"Oh, I see," Ed said, looking wicked. "You want the tweets to have a basis in reality, hm?"

"No," said James quickly, his heart fluttering wildly as Ed turned back to his phone with eager intent. "Oh god."

It didn't take Ed long at all to come up with his next tweet, but it felt like an age to James, who just had to sit there watching him and sweating. The stress of it all didn't seem to be doing anything to quell his arousal; on the contrary, he could feel his cock getting even harder as he sat there helplessly, wondering how Ed was going to sully his name next. 

Finally, Ed held his phone up, and the tweet he showed him hadn't been posted yet, but the words still made James's stomach swoop. _One time I had sex with a girl while she was on her period and the sight of the blood after made me pass out._

"This is why I don't tell you sex stories!!" James blurted, desperate to say something—anything—to make Ed stop paying such close attention to his facial expressions and his squirming. "I always suspect you'll use them against me."

Ed just smirked. "In that case I'm surprised you don't tell me them all the time."

James's heart pounded away, and—god, _fuck_, his cock ached uncomfortably in the confines of his trousers, and it was confusing (and so weird) to be getting excited by such an embarrassing memory, at the thought of it being shared with the world like this. It wasn't even an accurate retelling—he didn't _actually_ pass out, he just got a bit lightheaded and she had to fetch him some water (and then laugh at him, which admittedly he rather liked). But it didn't matter. Ed could tell the story any way he wanted, and maybe most people would brush it off, but James knew that some of them would wonder. They'd imagine the situation, something so personal and intimate and _secret_—something that simply wasn't _meant_ to be shared with hundreds of thousands of people—

"Hmm, d'you know what, I think I can do better than that actually," Ed mused, snapping James out of his thoughts.

James felt dazed. He listened to Ed deleting the tweet, and it occurred to him, belatedly, that he was doing so out of respect to the ex-girlfriend in question—and then he felt a new stab of guilt as he realised he hadn't even _considered_ that. So wrapped up in himself, so focused on his own perversion that he hadn't even thought about basic human decency...more shame piled on top of all the other shame he was already feeling, and he fought to stay above the surface, even as a part of him longed to go under.

He forced himself to look at Ed, who had clearly finished typing out a different tweet by now, and judging by his exaggerated tap of the screen, sent this one without bothering to show James first. James waited expectantly to be shown, but Ed seemed to be waiting for something too, which just made James feel panicky. What could he have said that might have been _worse_ than his original draft? James's thoughts began spinning out of control as he tried to remember all the embarrassing stories he'd relayed to Ed over the years. His phone buzzed in his pocket again and he tried to ignore the way it felt like the vibrations were travelling across his thigh straight to his cock.

Eventually, Ed smiled to himself and turned the screen around. The tweet read: _Those furry handcuffs you can get look like harmless sexy fun but it's surprising how effective they can be. Incidentally, has anyone got any tips on how to escape when you're handcuffed to a chair?_

James drew in a sharp breath. He wasn't expecting _that_. His cock pulsed urgently in his trousers and he wished he could touch it—but if he could, would he be desperate enough to do it right here with Ed watching? He shivered at the thought, and stared fixedly at the words Ed had typed. He'd certainly gone for something based in reality. Now, when people were picturing the images Ed conjured up, it was no longer just silly fantasy—they might not know it, but they would be imagining James exactly as he was right now. It was almost as if they could all _see_ him.

He was so addled that it took him a moment to realise he could see responses this time, too, that Ed had been waiting for people to react so that James could see (not just feel, with every vibration of his phone) that people were watching and reading and wondering. Ed scrolled, and the letters swam in front of James's eyes. _Did the stripper handcuff you? Never would've imagined you were so kinky James! Omg,_ read one response, and James could see the face of the woman who'd written it, in her profile photo. That made it feel so agonisingly _real_. These were real people witnessing James's humiliation, not just faceless entities on a screen. 

James's gaze caught on another response. _Ed have you tied James to a chair and taken over his Twitter?? Bit harsh,_ it read, along with several laughing emojis, and James's heart leapt into his throat at the thought that this stranger was so much more on the mark than they could ever imagine.

He wondered if the two of them were trending again, if clueless bystanders might happen upon the night's events. They'd have no idea what was going on, and perhaps they'd _never_ know. Perhaps this would forever be their association with the name "James Acaster". James writhed violently in the chair, squeezing his eyes shut, suddenly overwhelmed.

"C'mon now," said Ed brusquely. "You asked for this. Don't wimp out now when we both know you want more."

All James could do was whimper a bit, but he knew Ed was right. He was desperate to know what Ed was going to do to him next. After a few more seconds he felt able to open his eyes again, and saw that Ed had taken the phone away and was looking at him curiously. James couldn't quite meet his gaze, ducking his head. Then, very deliberately, Ed leaned back, stretched out a leg, and rested his socked foot neatly on James's crotch. 

His _foot_. James sputtered indignantly, but it was hopeless, because he'd also let out a moan the second Ed had touched him.

Ed shrugged. "My hands are busy," he said, by way of explanation.

James didn't believe for a second that Ed wasn't aware of how humiliating it was to have his foot there. He was lounging back on the bed, leisurely tapping away, absorbed in his phone, like James didn't even matter. He even _laughed_, then, at something on the screen.

"What?" James asked urgently. "Show me."

"Hm," said Ed, like he was pretending to think about it. "No."

He went back to typing, and occasionally, absentmindedly—as if James was merely an afterthought—he would move his foot, just enough to give James the tiniest bit of friction. And James wished he could say otherwise, but he responded keenly every time, tilting his hips up, trying to move against him. He was so focused on the pleasure of it—the horrible, humiliating pleasure—that it took him a second to react when Ed held up his phone again.

_Just kidding! I'm a good boy, as we all know,_ Ed had written, and the words made James's cock throb, because god, he was so far from a good boy right now, he was very clearly being very bad indeed. He had to focus hard to manage to process the rest of the tweet: _I'm currently safely tucked up in bed with my stuffed bunny rabbit, Marshmallow. Her ears are so soft and when I snuggle her it makes me feel loved._

Had Ed increased the pressure of his foot against James's cock, or had James moved closer to him, hitching his hips forward on the chair as far as they'd go? He told himself it was the former, but he couldn't make himself believe it. He was desperate, wriggling about, trying to get some satisfaction from what little Ed was giving him, and he could hear himself making these stupid breathy noises all the while. He was so worked up, he didn't think it would take much, but—no. He was _not_ going to come in his pants—on Ed's _foot_—the indignity of it! As if he hadn't already suffered enough! But what if that was exactly what Ed wanted? What if he refused to stop until James had debased himself in exactly such a way?

Ed was looking at him again, in that scrutinising way that made James feel like he was seeing right inside his head, and James's face felt like it was on fire. Being watched so closely made him feel even more ashamed of what he was doing and he tried to make himself stop, but failed miserably, too far gone for that sort of self-discipline.

"You _really_ get off on this, don't you? What a strange boy you are," Ed said finally, and his tone sounded derisive to James's ears. "Of course, I already knew," he added casually, and James felt himself go even redder, "but actually _seeing_ it...well, it's quite a sight. Look how desperate you are, James." He pressed down firmly with his foot, and James shuddered and gasped. "Can't believe some silly little tweets have made your cock this hard."

James whimpered again and bowed his head, his body folding in on itself even as he continued to twitch about pathetically. He was already so overcome, he didn't think he'd be able to cope if Ed was going to actually _talk_ about what was happening on top of everything else. He dared to flick a nervous glance up at Ed from beneath his fringe, and saw that Ed was grinning at him like he found the whole thing terribly amusing.

Then James's phone vibrated again, making him jump and reminding him that he wasn't just embarrassing himself in front of Ed right now; there were many, many more spectators to this humiliation. Probably people were beginning to wonder why he was letting it go on for so long. At least last time he had the excuse of being in the midst of a gig for the bulk of the shenanigans. Of course, as far as anyone else was concerned, there could be any number of things keeping him occupied and away from his phone. But in the headspace he was rapidly slipping into, it felt like the most obvious thing in the world that he wasn't stopping it because he simply didn't _want_ to. 

In fact, his phone wasn't buzzing anywhere near as much as he'd expected, which should have been reassuring but only worsened the frenzy he was in. Did that mean people could tell something was going on, that there was more to it this time? If Ed had figured out this part of him without much trouble, didn't it stand to reason that his other friends could as well? Was that why they were steering clear of the situation? James wasn't sure what was worse: all these strangers judging him publicly, or his friends doing so in private.

When Ed next showed him the screen, it was open to James's mentions, and his expression was smug as he scrolled through them all. The screen was moving so fast and James was so overwhelmed that he couldn't really comprehend anything except that there were so _many_. Everybody was piling on, clearly having a lot of fun at his expense; there was so much laughter and mockery. He squirmed under the heavy pressure of Ed's foot and the weight of Ed's stare, and then without warning Ed switched the screen back to James's DMs.

When James saw Sara Pascoe's name and picture his body jerked involuntarily forwards—as much as it could, against the restraints. His heart raced and his eyes scanned frantically to the last message sent. _You might be a vegan, but I bet you'd like my meat,_ it read, and James felt himself flush at the crassness of it. Really, he should've breathed a sigh of relief, considering everything else Ed might have said. This was so obviously not serious, and she'd definitely laugh it off (wouldn't she?) but James felt shame simmering deep inside of him anyway, as though he'd actually typed the words himself. Ed was fully aware that James had fancied Sara when he'd first started out, that he'd always worried she secretly knew...

An image burst into his mind of the two of them laughing about it behind his back, and he realised shamefully that he was bucking his hips frantically now, rubbing himself against the sole of Ed's foot. The humiliation of it sort of made him want to cry, but he was too weak to make himself stop. Ed looked so amused, and maybe also a little pitying, and that just made everything so much worse and so much better.

"Please," James begged, and didn't even know what he was begging for. For some reason he had thought that things like this might have been off-limits, and it was both alarming and thrilling to realise there might not _be_ any limits to what Ed might do. How far was he going to take this?

James got an answer to that question almost immediately, as Ed showed him his phone again.

_People are saying I'm a bad friend,_ the tweet began, and James's heart rate picked up when he realised Ed was no longer speaking as James now, but as himself, pulling back the curtain. James continued to read, and his heart skipped a beat. _What you don't know is that James actually asked me to do this. He likes it. A little too much, if you know what I mean._

James was breathing fast. "No," he said faintly, but he knew what he _really_ had to say to stop Ed from sending it out, and somehow he couldn't bring that word to his lips. Some awful, depraved part of him _wanted_ Ed to do it, to tell the world what they were doing, so that he could revel in everybody's shock and confusion, their judgement and disgust. 

"Yes," said Ed firmly. "And I think I'd better include a screenshot of our DMs, don't you? Just so people know I'm telling the truth."

"_No!_" cried James, panic rising inside him and spilling over. "Oh—Ed—don't—"

But still he couldn't make himself say anything else, and Ed was arching his foot, lazily stroking it over James's cock now, and James was churning his hips urgently, grinding against it, his mind a total haze. All he knew for sure was that he needed to come, he was desperate for it.

Ed turned back to his phone, and James heard him take the screenshot, and he felt sick, and he could no longer distinguish between excitement and dread. Ed tapped a few more times, and then he pressed send. James knew that was what he'd done, because he did it with such a flourish, and he had a triumphant look on his face, and James's phone started buzzing again, vibrations tingling through his skin—

"There you go," said Ed softly, "now everyone knows exactly how fucked up you are."

And James strained forwards, let out a desperate sob, and came.

For a long moment he could do nothing but tremble, aftershocks coursing through him. When he managed to come back to himself enough to open his eyes, he saw that the wetness had soaked through his trousers, leaving a humiliating stain, and—oh no, Ed's sock was damp too, and he felt yet another unforgiving wave of mortification, but Ed was smiling like this was exactly what he'd wanted.

"Oh god, sorry," James blurted anyway. His face burned, and his head was still spinning. His phone continued to buzz dully in his pocket.

"No apologies necessary," said Ed lightly, tossing his own phone onto the bed. 

Then he got to his feet, circled around James and unfastened the handcuffs, and James realised just how much his shoulders ached from the tension of having his arms held behind his back all this time.

"You can check your phone now, if you want," Ed said.

"I don't know if I _do_ want," James admitted. 

Suddenly all of the adrenaline in him had turned sour, the fog of arousal rapidly clearing and leaving his brain screaming at him. Why had he let this happen?! How could he let himself get so horny that he'd do something so _stupid?_ Why was this even something that turned him on in the first place?

Ed squeezed his shoulder gently, and then grabbed his own phone and held it up for James one last time. James braced himself and glanced up, and then proceeded to stare in confusion for several seconds. The tweet he was expecting to see—it simply wasn't there. There was no screenshot. The most recent tweet on James's account read: _Thinking of branching out with my wardrobe. What do you think would suit me best - crop tops or Crocs?_

"Oh," said James quietly.

Part of him almost felt—disappointed? No, surely not. Just annoyed that Ed had tricked him, and maybe a little foolish. Mostly, though, he felt an overwhelming flood of relief.

"I'm not _actually_ trying to ruin you, you know," Ed assured him, giving his shoulder another squeeze. "Only enough for it to still be a fun time."

"Right," said James faintly. "Sure." He rubbed at the faint indentations on his wrists. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," said Ed, grinning. "Any time."

"Not sure how many more times we can do this before it starts looking suspicious," James pointed out, a little regretful.

"Think it already looks a bit suspicious, mate," Ed replied, still sounding cheery. "But don't worry, there are plenty of other ways I can humiliate you."

James felt his heart jump. "Yeah?"

"Of course. C'mon James, use your imagination," said Ed with a smirk.

But James wasn't sure if he dared.


End file.
